


Rough and Dirty

by profmeteor



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2693000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profmeteor/pseuds/profmeteor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Casey and Raph mess around in the woods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rough and Dirty

It’s been raining for days — just let up this morning, and everyone surged out of the house the second the rain broke, squelched their way through the grass and breathed in the heavy air. Raph’s been sticking close to Leo ever since he woke up, but as Leo’s been getting better, so has Raph, and Casey takes advantage of how pent-up he is — he goads Raph into a stupid game of can’t catch me, can’t catch me, which Casey loses four times before wiggling away and running off again, shouting over his shoulder that Raph totally sucks at this, dude, and that he’s a lousy ninja, and that Casey’s had better defense from third graders, man.

By the third time he’s escaped from Raph, he can tell that something is going on. Something more than usual. They’ve been doing this for ten minutes, which should be more than enough for Raph to buckle down with anger and tackle Casey to the ground, but he’s still laughing and grinning sharp and wrangling him, grabbing at Casey’s arms and legs and yanking at his clothes and always slipping up — by the fourth time, they’re pretty much drenched in mud from their thighs down, breathing hard, and Casey is running out of insults.

"It’s almost like you want me to get away!” he crows over his shoulder — except, Raph isn’t there anymore.

Oh, shit, he thinks, right before turning and slamming face-first into Raph. With a laugh, Raph grabs the back of his knee and upturns him — Casey goes flying and lands right in a huge mud puddle, panics for a moment when he keeps going down.

"Who’s the tough guy, now?" Raph asks as Casey flails in the mud. He throw his head back and cackles — but his laugh chokes out when Casey scrambles to his feet. Casey tries to wipe the mud out of his eyes, but it’s no use when his hands are this muddy; he cusses and tries to shake himself like a dog. "Serves you right," Raph says, this time so close to Casey that he jumps. "Idiot," he says, and takes Casey’s face — slow, and gentle, and Casey freezes.

Raph wipes the mud away from Casey’s eyes. Casey blinks at him, bent over so they’re eye-to-eye, and Raph is standing so close that he can see the way the color starbursts in Raph’s eyes. He’s pretty sure he could feel Raph’s breath puffing on his face if it weren’t for the mud. He’s pretty sure he knows what that expression means, that he knows the language of the forward-slant of his shoulders and easy, open stance of his legs.

What he doesn’t know is what it’s doing to him, exactly, to see Raph looking at him like that. It’s doing something.

Raph cusses under his breath — his hands tighten on Casey’s jaw — he bites his lip, and oh, fuck, Casey is not prepared for the way heat spreads through him at that, so he does the first thing he thinks of.

He grabs Raph and tosses him into the puddle.

Raph shouts and flops, kicking mud everywhere, but before Casey can lurch out of reach, he’s turned over and yanked Casey’s ankle, yanked him down with a violent splash and triumphant laugh.

And then he’s on top of him, to dunk Casey back under the mud — they’re laughing, groping, and their hands keep slipping no matter what hold they try — and if Raph’s having a hard time, Casey’s screwed, because all he has to hang onto is Raph’s bandana and belt. He gives it a try, hooking his fingers under Raph’s belt and trying to flip him over, but Raph’s hips — jerk forward, and Casey lets go, startled, something hot jerking in his stomach, but then he forgets about it because Raph’s got him in a chokehold and it’s all he can do to scramble in the mud for purchase and try not to let Raph hold him under — and then Raph lets go, and they’re back again, twisting and slipping against each other, and then, well —

And then Raph’s thighs are clamped around Casey’s hips, and Casey is on his back, and he knows the moment that it happens where this is going.

And — weirdly enough? — he’s okay with it. Right now, he’s really okay with it, because Raph’s grinding down on him and the mud is making his rough shell slick, making him ride against Casey’s hips no problem. He grabs Casey’s jaw with his sopping fingers and tilts his head back, buries his mouth against Casey’s neck.

Casey moans. He fumbles, grabs Raph’s bandana tails. Tugs them, just to see what Raph does, and to his surprise, Raph takes fistfuls of Casey’s hair and tugs back, and Casey moans again, a little higher-pitched. This time, Raph groans back, low in his throat and thick. He’s thrusting faster, with messy, long twists of his hips that are almost perfect, grinding right on Casey’s dick, and fuck, his jeans are sticking even worse than they normally would because of the mud, and he can’t imagine how good the cool, wet mud would feel on his dick and is about a hundred fucking percent ready to find out.

"H-hang on," he says, "lemme just — "

"No," Raph growls, bearing down and humping faster, and Casey whimpers. He yanks Casey’s hair, bites his throat and shoulders.

"My jeans," he whines, "I wanna - lemme — "

He’s so fucking hard, and his shirt has ridden up just enough that Raph’s cock is sliding against his exposed stomach, and if Raph doesn’t slow down and let him tug them down he’s gonna come like this, and man, laundry’s already gonna be a pain to explain, and — Raph bites his neck again, hard, and Casey gasps. Forgets about laundry, and getting his pants off, and everything but grinding up against Raph and touching every inch of him he can with one hand while pressing his face down against his neck with the other.

Raph tenses suddenly, freezing up, and Casey can actually feel his cock twitch against him as he comes — he makes a deep, guttural noise as he does, opens his mouth and tilts his head back. His thighs shiver against Casey’s sides. And — and he keeps coming, makes a helpless noise when Casey rubs his hips up against him and thrusts weakly in response, and suddenly Casey is coming, too, so hard that he can feel it in his temples, a buzzing that’s better than any adrenaline rush.

*

"What the fuck," Raph says.

Casey is sitting next to him, arm-to-arm, mostly wondering if it would be too gay to hold Raph’s hand. He kind of wants to. He rolls his head back against the tree and hums. Inches his hand towards Raph’s. When he touches Raph’s fingers, Raph looks at him and turns his palm over, takes his hand. He stares at their hands like they’re some weird — but also kind of cool — mutant.

"What just happened?" Raph asks. He rubs his forehead, slowly, like that might tease the answer out of his brain.

"I dunno," Casey says. "But, I mean, I’m okay with it if you are."

"…what?" Raph looks at their hands again, like that might explain some things.

"Or, we don’t have to — whatever. It’s cool. We’re cool. Right?"

Raph sighs, and then slumps against Casey’s shoulder. “Whatever,” he says.

But his fingers close around Casey’s hand, and neither of them move to stand until a distant peal of thunder suggests that they head home.


End file.
